seconds she rose again and went to the window. Down below, Fallon appeared on the street. She watched him turn right and disappear around the corner, heading toward Stokes’s Grocery, which also housed the Cove’s small post office.
Fallon had insisted on picking up the mail for the past three days. Prior to that he had been content to let her handle the small, daily chore. Fallon was not exactly a creature of habit, but he had a number of established routines. Any break in the pattern was of great interest.
She gave it a few minutes and then went to the window on the other side of the room. She was just in time to see Fallon walking back from the grocery store. But he did not turn toward J&J. Instead, he disappeared again through a stand of trees, heading toward the bluffs and the path that led down to the Cove.
Another break in the pattern.
She turned, grabbed her coat off the wall hook and went out the door.
A bank of fog hovered just offshore, waiting to swallow the town whole. When she reached the top of the bluffs, she saw Fallon. He was already down on the rocky beach, walking toward the Point at the far end of the Cove. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket. Even from this distance she could sense the dark, moody tension that shivered in the air around him.
She went down the steep path with some care. Loose pebbles skittered beneath her shoes. By the time she reached the bottom of the path, Fallon was nearing the Point. She paused briefly to open her senses. Fallon was illuminated in icy para-fog. But, then, he was always enveloped in the stuff.
She went after him, picking her way between tide pools and rocky outcroppings. Small crabs and sharp-billed shore birds scuttled out of her way.
She knew that Fallon could not have heard her approaching over the background roar of the surf, but he must have sensed her presence, because he stopped and turned to wait for her.
When she got closer, she could see the solemn set of his face and the dark shadows in his eyes.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked.
She ignored the brusque tone.
“You got something important in the mail, didn’t you?” she asked. “Something you’ve been expecting for the past couple of days.”
For a few seconds she thought he might not answer. Then he looked out toward the horizon.
“Yes,” he said finally.
“Can you tell me what it is? Or is it too personal?”
He took the box out of his pocket and looked at it. “I received a ring.”
The stoic resignation in his voice sent a frisson of alarm through her. The ring was connected to something very painful.
“Whose ring is it?” she asked gently.
“It belonged to a man who died three years ago. Last year I got his watch. The year before that I received a photo of his casket.”
She studied his hard face. “What’s going on, Fallon?”
“Someone wants to make certain that I never forget.”
“That you never forget what?”
“That I killed my friend and partner.”
20
They sat down on a large rock facing the wild surf. Holding it in his gloved hand, Fallon studied the black metal ring that was set with a green stone.
“His name was Tucker Austin,” he said. “We were both J&J agents at the time. My uncle was running the agency back then. He was preparing to retire and turn the business over to me.”
“But you worked as an agent, first?”
Fallon shrugged. “Family tradition. Tucker and I handled a number of cases together that year. We made a solid team, at least for a while. He was a high-end light-talent.”
“I’ve never heard of that kind of ability.”
“Probably because it’s rare. A medium-range light-talent can manipulate the light that comes from the normal end of the spectrum. A dreamlight-talent can read the radiation from the dark ultralight sectors. But people like Tucker can bend both visible and paranormal wavelengths in such a way that they can make themselves invisible.”
“The government is working on a superstealth fighter plane that uses that principle,” Isabella said. “Top secret black arts stuff. My grandmother broke the story on her website a few months back.”
“The news was in all the popular-science magazines and several newspapers long before it appeared on the Iceberg site,” Fallon said dryly.
“Really?”
In spite of his dour mood, Fallon’s mouth kicked up a little at the corner. “You do realize that if it’s in the New York